


What Makes a Hero

by Elsajeni



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Community: hobbit_kink, Gen, Goblin Town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 10:36:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsajeni/pseuds/Elsajeni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Then the goblin-king roars, "Start with the youngest," and Kili does react — barely, but Ori is close enough to hear his intake of breath — and Ori realizes, suddenly, that he may not be mighty or warlike or even impressively bearded, but he <em>is</em> young, and looks younger still, and perhaps he can be useful to Durin's line after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Makes a Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a hobbit_kink prompt:
>
>> Ori's smart. He knows he isn't a warrior. He does what he can to help from the very start, but it's clear pretty quick that his slingshot isn't going to work against wargs and orcs and trolls.
>> 
>> In Goblin Town, he sees his chance to serve his king, and the line of Durin in a way fighters like Dwalin and Bifur and Gloin can not.
>> 
>> The Goblin King says 'start with the youngest.'
>> 
>> Ori knows he's the only one who can pass for younger than Kili. He puts on his scared 'they must be talking about me' face, flails around, makes sure everyone looks at him first.
> 
> http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/4373.html?thread=8710421#t8710421 

Ori is not cut out to be a hero; he has always known that. Dwarven heroes are warriors, orc-slayers, wielders of great axes and warhammers. They are certainly not scribes; they do not carry slingshots or make careful drawings of birds, and history records no instance of a great hero saying, "I'll pack a jumper, just in case it gets chilly on my noble quest." He has done his best to be useful along the journey so far, and to serve Thorin and his heirs in whatever way he can, but even his best rarely seems to be enough, and by now he is resigned to being a footnote in the chronicles of their quest — The Company of Thorin Oakenshield, Reclaimers of Erebor, Twelve Noble Dwarves and Their Burglar, oh, and also Ori.

When they fall into the goblins' trap, he is even more certain than before that he should never have come on this quest, that he has no business playing at being a hero. His slingshot is barely even a distraction to the goblins he fires on; then one of them takes it off him (easily, and he burns with shame) and shoves him over, and by the time he struggles to his feet the rest are disarmed, too, and he's been even less help than usual.

They're shepherded through the goblin caves, along narrow bridges and steep staircases, and then corralled on a high, round platform before what must be the king of the goblins. Out of the corner of his eye, Ori sees Dori, his braids coming undone, shouting and cursing at their captors, and Nori trying to shove toward him; he was beside them in the cave above, but in the chaos, somehow they've been pushed apart and he's ended up between Kili and Dwalin instead. He glances over his shoulder at Kili, expecting to see his own fear mirrored in the younger dwarf's face; instead, Kili looks impassive, even _annoyed_ , as if this is nothing worse than a mildly inconvenient interruption of his sleep, and Ori looks away again, embarrassed.

Then the goblin-king roars, "Start with the youngest," and Kili does react — barely, but Ori is close enough to hear his intake of breath — and Ori realizes, suddenly, that he may not be mighty or warlike or even impressively bearded, but he _is_ young, and looks younger still, and perhaps he can be useful to Durin's line after all.

He quails, dramatically, and puts on the most frightened, childlike face he can manage. That draws the attention of a few of the goblins, but not enough; he adds an audible whimper to his performance, and a few more look his way, but still not all of them, and still not their awful king. Desperate, he looks to his right, to Dwalin, and mouths _Help me_ , and hopes that, even if the warrior doesn't catch on, the goblins will notice his plea and take it to mean he's the one they want.

Dwalin stares for a split second, and then he _does_ seem to catch on, thank Mahal. He reaches out, moves as if to pull Ori behind him. "Not the lad," he bellows, "let him alone," and, yes, that seems to do it; the goblin-king laughs and points at Ori, shouts, "That one!", and clawed hands grip him by the shoulders and pull him forward.

A huge, scarred goblin emerges from the crowd, grinning widely, a great barbed whip in his hand. He waves the other goblins back and brings the whip down with a crack across Ori's shoulders, once, twice — there's a clamoring among the dwarves, and he can make out Dori's voice, high and panicky and shouting curses he didn't think his well-mannered older brother even _knew_ — three times, and he's fallen to his hands and knees, waiting for the fourth stroke, when there's a tremendous flash of white light and the goblin screams and falls.

"Take up arms," Gandalf's voice is bellowing; _Where did he come from_ , Ori thinks, dazed, and fumbles for the nearest weapon, and then they're running and all he can do is try to keep up.

It's not until much later — after the orcs, and the trees, and the eagles, after they've been deposited on a great jutting platform of rock and seen that Thorin will be all right — that Ori's panic catches up to him. He sits down hard, abruptly, on the ground at the very edge of their camp, wrapping his arms about his knees and knowing that he's trembling, and in an instant Dori and Nori are at his side, fussing over him, smoothing his hair and offering to get him a mug of tea. He shakes them off ("I'm _fine_ , really I am, only let me catch my breath") and curls closer in on himself, and he's just beginning to calm down when a shadow falls over him again.

He looks up, startled, and then is even more surprised to see that it's Dwalin standing over him, arms crossed over his broad chest. The older dwarf stares down at him for a long moment, his face stern; then he gives a nod, and says, "That was boldly done."

Ori can't help a laugh. "Aye, a bold display of cowardice," he says, and hates the shake in his voice. "Don't give me too much credit; it came quite naturally to me."

"Do not discount yourself," Dwalin says, his glare deepening. "It was a brave ploy, and a clever one, and none of the rest of us could have pulled it off. We are lucky to have you with us."

Ori ducks his head, heat rising in his face. He struggles for words, for a moment, and in the end simply settles on, "Thank you."

"Thank _you_ ," Dwalin returns, and extends a hand down to him. "Now come on. Your brothers are in a right state; come by the fire and sit with them, and let Oin have a look at your shoulders."

"All right," Ori says after a moment, and goes along back toward the campfire; the welcome he gets from the rest of the company is raucous and warm, and he allows himself, just for a moment, to imagine the chronicle of The Company of Thorin Oakenshield, _Thirteen_ Noble Dwarves and Their Burglar.


End file.
